


Home

by darenotlove



Series: SNAFUBAR [7]
Category: Hanson (Band), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darenotlove/pseuds/darenotlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little something I wrote to try and make myself feel better about current fandom events, I guess. Sorry if any of it offends anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

At what point is it considered reasonable to start freaking out when your spouse is late coming home?

I guess _technically_ he's not late. He never told me when he'd be home, so I can't exactly hold him to a specific time. But he told me he was meeting Adam for lunch, and I'm loading up the dishwasher with dinner plates, so...

Maybe I'm making something out of nothing, though. Just because he didn't tell me he was doing anything else after lunch, that doesn't mean he's not allowed to. Maybe he ended up spending the afternoon with Adam. Or maybe he decided to hang out with another friend, or visit his mom or his sister. Maybe someone invited him over for dinner and he just... forgot to text me and tell me not to expect him home in time to eat with us. Or maybe he _couldn't_ text me because his phone died.

That would explain why he hasn't responded to any of my texts or answered any of my calls for the past five hours.

But five hours of radio silence doesn't mean anything, right? It doesn't mean I should start calling people and asking if they've seen or heard from him, even if that's _all_ I can think about doing right now. The idea that he could be lying in a hospital somewhere keeps gnawing at me, but I've been trying not to focus on it. I know that if I let myself think about it too much, I'm going to completely freak out. And if I freak out, the kids are going to start freaking out, too. So far, I've done a convincing enough job of explaining his absence that they don't suspect anything is off.

But if he's not home before they go to bed, I _know_ there will be another round of questions coming my way.

This isn't like him. He doesn't ignore my texts or skip meals without notice. If something comes up, he lets me know. Maybe once upon a time this wouldn't have been a big deal. Back when I first moved out here, it wasn't entirely unusual for him to do his own thing without keeping me in the loop. But it's completely different now, and it has been for a _long_ time. We're partners, we're a team, and that doesn't work if one of us just drops off of the radar like this!

"Need any help?" The sound of Jenna's voice from across the room shakes me out of my thoughts, and I realize that I've been standing here staring at a plate for who knows how long now.

I force a smile before turning to face her, doing my best to appear totally calm. "No, thanks. I'm almost done."

"Well, the kids are finishing up with their homework, and I said they could watch TV until you told them otherwise."

"Great."

"Are you _sure_ you don't need anything else before I head out?" She asks in obvious concern, because she's not an idiot, and she's lived with us long enough to know when something isn't right. "I can stay if-"

"No!" I insist quickly, placing the last of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. "I'm fine, you don't need to cancel your plans."

"Okay... but call me if you _do_ decide you need me."

"I won't, but I appreciate the offer."

I really hope I won't need to call her.

Because the only scenario I can think of that would lead to me calling and asking her to come back here would be if _I_ had to leave. And the only reason I can think of for me needing to leave is if Tommy _couldn't_ come home for some reason and I needed to go to wherever he was in order to be with him.

And the only plausible explanation I can think of for why he wouldn't be coming home tonight makes me want to throw up.

Once Jenna is gone for the night, I head into the family room to spend some time with the kids. It's incredibly difficult to resist the urge to check my phone every five minutes, but I know that if he calls or messages me, I'll hear his ringtone or feel the phone vibrate. There's no reason for me to continuously look at the screen, and all I'll accomplish by doing it is tipping the kids off to the fact that I'm anxious about something. It's my job as a parent to keep up the appearance that everything is normal and there's nothing to worry about. Even if I'm _really_ starting to panic on the inside.

I end up letting the kids stay up almost an hour later than usual, because I'm selfishly hoping that Tommy will come home and help me put them to bed. But it turns out to be a waste of time, because he's a no show. They all react to his absence in different ways. Ezra isn't as bothered by not receiving a goodnight from Tommy as his younger siblings are, but he _is_ bothered by my inability to look him in the eyes when I tell him everything is fine and that Tommy will be home soon. Penny seems uneasy about it all, but she doesn't kick up a fuss. River, on the other hand, won't brush his teeth until I swear on my life that Tommy will be here when they wake up, and Viggo pouts and begs to be allowed to stay up a little longer, just until Tommy gets home. But since I have no idea _when_ that will be, I can't grant his wish.

Asta takes it the hardest. First she refuses to get into her bed, stomping her little foot on the floor, folding her arms across her chest and defiantly telling me "no!". When my no-nonsense tone has no affect on her whatsoever (a trait that she _definitely_ gets from Tommy), I resignedly hoist her off of her feet and _put_ her into her bed. The next few minutes are spent trying to keep her from getting back out of bed. She furiously kicks and squirms,  and every time she screams for her "dad", I feel like the worst person in the world. But just as I'm about to give in and let her stay up with me all night, her flailing comes to a gradual stop, and her teary eyes begin to close.

And then I just sit on the floor and watch her sleep, her face illuminated only by the soft, blue glow of the 'Frozen' nightlight plugged in beside her bed. Sometimes I forget how long it has been since Tommy _wasn't_ here to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight. We always thought it would end up being a more frequent occurrence than it actually was. We anticipated a tour that never happened. And then Adam was so busy working with Queen and recording his new album that there were no shows for Tommy to play at all, local or otherwise. In fact, _I've_ spent more nights out of town than Tommy has these past couple of years. Not many, but still more than him. Even when he goes out with friends for the night, he does it _after_ Asta is in bed. She probably can't remember a time when he wasn't here; of course she's scared.

I'm starting to get pretty scared, too.

I head back to the way-too-quiet kitchen, grabbing myself a beer out of the fridge and a bag of chips from the pantry. Then I set up camp on the couch in the family room with my phone, telling myself that if there's still no word by midnight I can officially freak out. Until then, I'm just going to have to distract myself with whatever happens to come on TV.

But the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a dark room. The TV is off and there's a blanket draped over me that I have no memory of putting there. My heart jumps with hope at the thought that Tommy must have come home at some point after I dozed off. But then I remind myself that it could have just as easily been Jenna. Usually she'll bypass the main house and go straight to the pool house when she comes home late at night. But it's not entirely unlikely that she came home, saw the lights were still on, and decided to check in on us.

I pull the blanket aside and dump it in a heap on the couch as I push myself off of it and make my way tiredly up to our bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation as I turn the handle and open the door...

And then sinking when I see that our bed is still neatly made and completely empty.

It's been more than twelve hours since I last saw or heard from him. I can't even attempt to talk myself into thinking this is nothing to be concerned about anymore. This _isn't_ like him.

Before I start making the calls that I've been dreading having to make all evening, I check in on the kids to make sure that everyone is still sleeping peacefully and isn't likely to walk in on me making middle of the night calls to local hospitals.

When I push Asta's slightly a jar door open to peer into her room, the sight of her clutching Tommy's arm as he sleeps soundly beside her is almost enough to make me _collapse_ with relief. I don't think I've _ever_ felt this way before in my entire life. It's like I can't breathe, but at the same time, it's like I can _finally_ breathe for the first time in _hours._ My legs almost give out under me, and I grasp the door frame for support as my racing mind begins to slow down. He's home. He's _safe_.

And he's got some _serious_ explaining to do!

I creep my way into the room and over to the bed, crouching down beside them and reaching over to carefully pry her little arm off of his. That's when I notice that he smells like whiskey. With a weary sigh, I give Asta a few gentle nudges until she eventually rolls away from him. And once I'm confident that she isn't going to wake up, I shake Tommy's shoulder until he opens his eyes. He blinks a few times, looking around him uncertainly as though he's not sure where he is or how he got here. He seems as surprised as I was to find himself in Asta's bed, and he looks up at me as though I can somehow explain it all. Then I see realization start to settle in, and his whole body appears to deflate right in front of me.

Without a word I gesture for him to follow me, and I lead him back to the family room and out of earshot of the kids. Well... it's out of earshot unless we're yelling, which I'm hoping we won't be. But depending on the explanation he gives me for his whereabouts, it's not out of the question.

"I called you." I tell him, trying hard to sort through my emotions and decide what the hell it is I'm feeling right now. "I called you, and I texted you-"

"I turned my phone off." He admits in a guilty mumble.

" _Why_?"

"I just... needed to be alone for a while."

Seriously?! "A while? You were gone for twelve fucking _hours_ , Tommy! You couldn't have told me that you wanted to be alone _before_ turning your phone off and leaving me to go crazy with worry?"

He sighs sadly, running his hand through his hair and dropping down heavily onto the couch. "I'm sorry. I wasn't really thinking straight."

I kind of want to keep venting my frustration and calling him out on his bullshit, but it's hard to do when I can see that he already feels bad. That doesn't mean I'm not angry, though. There's no excuse for how he handled things today. Not unless someone died or something.

Shit...

"What happened?" I ask apprehensively, taking a couple of steps closer and studying every little move he makes for some clue about what's going on with him. "Is everything okay? Is your mom okay?"

He frowns at me in total confusion. "My mom? Why wouldn't she be okay?"

"How the hell should I know? You disappeared all afternoon without a word, you turned your phone off, you show up in the middle of the night smelling like a damn distillery... I'm just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on!"

His eyes remain locked with mine for a moment, but I can't tell _anything_ about what's going on for him based only on the look he's giving me. The only thing I can still clearly see is that he's upset about something. Not angry, not irritated, not frustrated, just... hurt. It makes me want to go to him, to be closer to him. But it's like I can _feel_ his need for space. At least for now.

"Ever see 'Jerry Maguire'?" He suddenly blurts out, leaving me momentarily speechless.

Uh... "The movie? Yeah, I've seen it. Why?"

 "Remember how there's that scene in the beginning where he thinks everything's perfect, and everything's going right, and he goes out to lunch with this guy he works with, and the guy fires him in a restaurant full of people so he won't like make a big scene or whatever?"

"Tommy, what're you-"

"That's pretty much how my day went." He tells me, his tone even and unemotional. Like he's telling me about something that happened to somebody else, not to him. "Only it didn't end with me yelling 'show me the money' and stealing a goldfish."

What the fuck? "Are you saying... Adam _fired_ you?"

"That's what it felt like from where I was sitting. But according to him it wasn't so much me getting fired as his record company deciding not to like... 'rehire' me. Apparently they wanted him to go in a 'different direction' or something. " He shrugs, his gaze fixed steadily on the coffee table. "Either way, I'm out of a job."

"Shit..." I can't believe this. And it's pretty damn obvious that he can't, either. "I don't even know what to say..."  

He chuckles bitterly as I take a seat on the edge of the table in front of him. "Neither did I. Which made it a lot fucking easier for him, I bet."

"So his record label tells him to ditch someone he's been working with for _years_ and he just does it?" I question in outrage. "He didn't even _try_ to change their minds?"

"He said he did. But I kinda got the feeling he didn't put up much of a fight."

"What do you mean?"

"He just didn't seem all that broken up about it, I guess. It was like he was _saying_ he was sorry, but he wasn't really. He kept telling me that it was better for _me_ this way, like he was trying to make me think he was doing me a favor. He was like 'the new album's not really your style of music anyway', and 'it was so hard for you to leave Taylor and the kids, now you won't have to deal with that'." He shakes his head slowly, sadly. "I just sat across from him thinking, 'who are you and what the fuck did you do with Adam?'  He didn't even sound like himself. Not that I'd know anymore; I've barely talked to him in months."

"I'm sorry, Tommy." I tell him sincerely, reaching out across the small space between us and wrapping my fingers around his hand. He immediately grasps my fingers, holding on tightly. "I know how much you loved that job."

"It's not even the job, though. Not really. I mean... yeah, I loved it. But I can get another job, you know? It's _him_. Who he was and what we had... it's like it's just _gone_. Like I don't even know him anymore. A few years ago he was calling me family and telling me he'd always be there for me, and now he's all like 'gotta go, no hard feelings!'. And I feel like a fucking idiot, because I _knew_. I knew something was off, I knew things weren't the same. I kept making excuses for him in my head, but it's like he's been backing away from me slowly for the last year, just waiting until he was far enough away that he could get the hell out without me even realizing what had happened until it was already over. I saw it coming. But then when he called last week and asked if I wanted to get lunch... it was like everything I knew went out the fucking window."

"Because you missed him, and you wanted things to go back to the way they were before."

"They're not going to, though. He's not who he was. And to be totally fair, neither am I."

"What do you mean?" I ask uncertainly as he idly tangles and untangles his fingers with mine, never letting me go for even a second.

"Just... after he told me that I wasn't coming back, it was like I was in shock. I couldn't feel _anything_. I literally sat in my fucking car across the street from the restaurant for two hours after he left, just... staring at the steering wheel. The only reason I moved was 'cause one of those parking enforcement cops knocked on the window and told me my meter had expired and I either needed to pay for more time or leave."

"So where did you go? Why didn't you come home?"

He shrugs helplessly, his eyes rising to meet mine. And what I see in them is heartbreaking. "I didn't know what to say. It hadn't even sunk in for me at that point, I had no fucking clue how to put it into words for anyone else. So I just... drove. It was like the numbness started to wear off more and more the longer I drove around L.A.,  and eventually I was sitting at this stop light and it just kind of hit me how _pissed off_ I was. I was _so_ fucking furious, I couldn't even think straight. I knew I couldn't come home like that, I didn't wanna be around _anyone_ I cared about, let alone you and the kids. So I pulled over at this bar somewhere in East L.A. I was just gonna have a few drinks and try and get my shit together, you know? But a few drinks turned into a few more drinks, and then suddenly the bartender was cutting me off. Which just made me even angrier." He looks back down at our entwined hands ashamedly. "I walked around for a while, trying to sober up enough to drive. But I ended up walking by a liquor store..."

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. And I want to be angry at him, part of me still is, but mostly I just feel so terrible for him. It's not like he doesn't drink when he's upset, but it's been a hell of a long time since he's gotten drunk enough that a bartender would refuse to pour him another drink. As misguided and reckless as his behavior was today, I know how much pain he had to have been in to do what he did. To drink that much, to turn off his phone and isolate himself from me and the kids like that.

And I know it wasn't entirely selfish, either. I know that he kept his distance for our sakes as much as his own. He didn't want to take it all out on us, or for us to see him trashed and miserable. Maybe no one died today, but he still suffered and incredibly difficult loss.

"What happened after you went to the liquor store?" I ask uncertainly, not even sure I want to know.

"I passed out in my car and slept for like... four hours. It was dark when I woke up, but I wasn't sure if I was okay to drive, so I went to a McDonalds a couple of blocks away and got some shitty coffee and about ten gallons of ice water. I turned my phone on, and I saw all your texts and voicemails, and I was gonna say something, but..."

"But...?"

"I don't know." He replies despondently, honestly. "I felt like shit for making you worry, and I didn't know what to tell you, and... I don't know. I seriously have no fucking clue what the fuck I was thinking or _why_ I didn't call you. I'm _so_ sorry, Taylor."

I open my mouth to tell him that it's okay, but it's not. He knows that, though. And me berating him for it isn't going to make either of us feel any better right now. It's done. It's over. He's here now, and he's okay, and that's _all_ I care about.

"I realized something while I was sobering up."

"Oh yeah?" I ask with a hint of amusement, wondering what possible revelation he could have had while sitting in a McDonalds in East L.A. "It wasn't the meaning of the universe, was it?

He smirks faintly, which seems to lift a little of the heaviness from both of our hearts. "Not exactly."

"So... what was it?"

"He was right."

"Who?" I frown. "Adam?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know he was just using it as an excuse, but he was still right when he said I didn't wanna leave you and the kids. I even knew that before he called. But it's like I got so caught up in the idea of playing shows again and being on stage with him, I forgot how much it sucks to be away from you. And it would've sucked even more now, after being home _all_ the time for _so_ long. Last time I went away it was for like six weeks or something. If Adam's new album does well, and he gets to tour, I could have been gone for _months_."

"Are you saying you're _glad_ he kicked you out of the band?"

After taking a moment or two to really consider the question, he starts to slowly nod his head. "Yeah, I guess."

"Are you _sure_?"

"I think so. I mean... I'm not stoked to be out of a job or anything, and I wish it hadn't happened like this, and that things weren't so fucked up with me and Adam now, but... it's okay. It hurts, and I hate that it came to this. But I can deal. And I can deal because of _you_. If things were different, if we weren't together and I'd just lost my job and one of my closest friends, I honestly don't know what the fuck I would've done. I'd probably still be off somewhere trying to drink myself to death."

Ouch. "Don't say that."

 "It's true, though. If I didn't have you and the kids, I'd be a fucking wreck. I'd feel like I had _nothing_ left right about now. But knowing that you'd be here when I came home made me realize how fucking _lucky_ I am. I love you, and our family, and our routine. I never thought I'd _enjoy_ being like... domesticated and shit, but I'm seriously _happy_ with how things are. It works."

I smile softly as I nod in complete agreement. "It does."

"And it's not like I can't still make music; we record stuff together all the time. I can find another band to play with if I wanna get out on stage again, and I'll still get to go out on the road next time _you_ go on tour. But... right now, I just wanna be _here_."

"I just want you to be here, too."

The small smile on his lips spreads until it finally reaches his eyes, chasing away the darkness that has been lurking in them since I woke him up in Asta's bed. Simply seeing it sends a wave of warmth rolling through my whole body, and as his lips meet mine, that wave swells and crashes over and over in the confines of my chest.

"You know what else I was thinking about when I was sitting in that McDonalds?" He asks in a whisper against my lips.

"What they put in the secret sauce?" I reply jokingly, earning myself a playful smack on the arm.

"I was remembering when we talked about how we both wanted to have another kid."

That little confession surprises me enough that I instinctively pull back, needing to see his face, to look him in the eyes and see just how serious he is right now. It looks like he's pretty damn serious.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

He shrugs one shoulder, redness sweeping across his cheeks before his eyes dart down to the ground shyly. "I don't know. I was just thinking about us, and about what the hell it is I'm supposed to do now, what I want..."

"And?"

"And..." He looks up at me again, a gleam in his eyes as that amazing smile of his puts in an appearance. "I wanna have a baby with you. Like, for real this time. I don't just wanna talk about it and then nothing happens, I want us to _really_ do it."

"You do know that's not physically possible, right?" I tease, fully expecting another slap on the arm.

But this time I don't get slapped. I get kissed instead.

"I still think we should give it our best shot."

"Well, you know me. I've never been one to shy away from a challenge." I chuckle softly, leaning in to him only to pause mere inches before my mouth finds his. "Do you know if you're ovulating?"

The sound of his laughter filling the dark family room is quite possibly the best thing I've heard all day, and I feel as though I'm basking in it, soaking it in even as he shoves me away playfully. "Fuck you."

My only response is to push him backwards onto the couch, climbing onto it with him as he gladly makes room for me, pulling me closer and kissing me eagerly. His body is still shaking with soft giggles, and I can't seem to wipe the smile off of my face. I'd give anything to make this feeling last indefinitely, to keep him laughing and smiling this way for as long as I possibly can. If he wants to have a baby, we'll have a baby. If he wants to have ten babies, we'll have ten babies (and also possibly a psychiatric evaluation).

It's just further evidence of how much better my life is with him in it, how much better life in general is when he's happy.


End file.
